Last Year. II
You surely must remember, though to-day There is no spell to charm you in the past. So dear the dream was that it could not last: Too soon our pleasant skies were changed to gray; The sun turned from our barren land away, And all the leaves swept by us on the blast, And all our hopes to that wild wind were cast-- For dead Love's soul there is no place to pray. But still the old time lingers in our thought; In our regretful dreams the old suns rise, And from their shining, memory hath caught Some lingering glory of that glad surprise When Love rose on us like the sun, and brought Our hearts their morning under last year's skies.
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